Let the World Slip
by HappierThanIDeserve
Summary: Light sequel to Persist in Folly. The Fall of King's Landing leaves Katy Ashford unexpectedly heiress to her family's castle and lands. When a veritable army of suitors descends to court her poor, beautiful cousin, Alys, Katy's father issues an ultimatum: Alys may not marry until Katy does. Enter schemers and an unconventional bridegroom, stage right.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This story picks up shortly after _Persist in Folly_ ends, but I intend it to be quite different. This is intended to be fluff, pure and simple. I tried my hand at writing something more serious in _Persist,_ and now I'd like to attempt something a bit more light-hearted, especially as I'm in the middle of writing something much more literary of my own creation. If you haven't read _Persist_, the scenario is going to be confusing. Fair warning since I think I accidentally created an alternative universe. Does it need to be flagged as such? Let me know.

The night air was still sultry, but there was a refreshing thread of chill to it. Katryna Ashford wished she could enjoy it, but she found the swirl of people overwhelming. Her great pleasure in the night was watching her cousin, Alys, soak up the excitement of the festival with her dark head thrown back in laughter.

They'd spent months on their costumes, and Alys was radiant in her moss-green gown and the mask made of velvet leaves. She really was a wood-sprite, Katy thought, her dark hair falling down her back in a fall of smooth darkness. The music was looping through the grounds of Highgarden, the high notes of the flutes and the laughter of the revelers bouncing off the pale stone walls, and Alys was radiant with joy.

Her enjoyment was enough for the both of them. Not one to delight in such things, Katy kept to perimeter. She sat at their empty table in her half-hearted representation of her family's arms. Really, it was just an old yellow gown that she'd hastily embroidered with orange suns. She'd been far more invested in helping Alys with her own costume. Alys cared, Katy didn't. She was lucky that orange looked well enough on her, it didn't sap her skin like it did Alys'. Katy didn't look well in many things, but her hair and skin suited the color. Unlike her cousin, there wasn't much extraordinary to Katy's looks. She was a bit taller than average, lean from riding and getting her hands dirty in the garden but not thin, her features regular enough but not painted with beauty as Alys' were, as her sloe-eyed Tyrell cousins' were. She had freckles across her nose and all up and down her arms, which she usually kept hidden. Her only attribute of note was probably her hair, nut-brown with a sheen of red that fell in persistent ringlets. Tonight, she'd grown tired of them getting in the way of her eating and drinking, and she'd tied the whole bloody lot of it into a knot at the base of her head to keep it at bay.

Her carelessness wasn't exactly in keeping with the beautifully clad revelers around her in their carefully constructed costumes, their teeth flashing white beneath their masks. Katy hadn't even bothered with one, though she had taken care to help Alys with hers. There was no one Katy was trying to lure in with mystery, and she'd much rather been able to tuck into the roast chicken and pork without worrying about damaging her garments.

The invitation to the Harvest Festival at Highgarden had been expected. The Ashfords always received one. They were, after all, close cousins to the Tyrells and the Redwynes. Katy's own mother had been a Tyrell, a cousin once removed of the current head, Mace Tyrell, and while their blood always earned them a place at the festivities, they had seldom attended.

In fact, Katy was quite sure they hadn't attended since her mother died, and that had been nearly fifteen years ago and before Alys had joined their household.

Sweet, lovely, Alys Flowers. The bastard name for the Reach suited the girl even when it was spoken in insult. _Bastard._ The very word made Katy's skin crawl. That such an epithet should be used to describe her dearest cousin and only friend brought on a wave of indignation like a thunderstorm. In the past, it might have excluded her cousin from coming at all, even though she had just as much right to be a part of the feasting as Katy, and she was much better suited to it.

Things had changed in Westeros.

The end of the war had brought about a strange and stilted peace, like the people of the Seven Kingdoms were just remembering that they were all kin, like they were waking up from some long nightmare that had overtaken them for time out of mind. There was a new King on the Throne, and King's Landing had been destroyed and rebuilt again. King Jon they called him, though he'd been crowned Aegon, and his Queen Myrcella Baratheon, had begun their rule quietly, somberly, mourning along with the rest of the Kingdoms as they and their councillors began the tedious and risky work of stitching them all back together.

Olenna Tyrell, however, was not about to let tragedy and mourning rob her of her favorite diversion. The invitations for the Harvest Festival went out as scheduled. The Winter had passed and it was spring. This first harvest of the new season promised to be a bountiful one, and Olenna had truly outdone herself. Highgarden looked its best, the white walls of the castle gleaming in the golden light of the harvest moon, the leaves with their fresh foliage winking with the gleam of lanterns. She'd even managed to assemble some of the most notable personages in the Realm, all seated at the high table with her arranged in a neat row like baubles on a shelf.

There was the Commander of the Kingsguard, given leave to attend by the King himself, though she didn't look pleased at the arrangement. Brienne of Tarth was a fascinating creature, and Katy had watched her with interest throughout the evening. From their family table on the lawn she had a good view of the high table. The Commander would have been an impressive figure if she'd been a man, but she was an even more intimidating woman. Impossibly tall and straight of spine, she sat stiffly at the edge of the table, one hand perpetually on the hilt of her sword, her eyes scanning the crowds and only occasionally distracted by her dinner partner.

Jaime Lannister was more handsome than Katy had expected, but also older and more worn looking than the stories had led her to believe. In them he was always brash and charming, but this man was much more subdued. He was seated next to the Lady of Tarth, and he'd been trying, unsuccessfully, to command her attention for the entire dinner. His focus, Katy thought, seemed confined to the table top or his seat mate. The light of the torches and the braziers picked out the silver strands in his hair and beard, and he had the aspect of a sad and disappointed lion.

There was Willas Tyrell among them as well, Katy's own cousin, and his father, and of course the great lady herself, Olenna resplendent in green in gold. To her right was lovely woman who Katy could not longer call young, but who was not yet old either. She'd heard the stories about the Mistress of Coin. She was, they said, uncannily intelligent, and there was that whole scandalous business about her abduction during the Battle of the Blackwater by the hulking brute who sat beside her. However, when Katy looked at her, the impression she got of Helenna Manderly-Clegane was one of quietude with a broad streak of kindness. It had been Katy that had first opened the letter written in Lady Helenna's hand informing them of the deaths of her brothers in the fall of King's Landing. Though short, the missive had been gracious, the expressions of condolence sincere. Katy could well imagine the woman seated at the high table had written such. She smiled easily but she spoke little unless Olenna turned to her. Sometimes the massive man with the eye patch and twisted skin who sat to her right would lower his head and speak in her ear. She would flick her gaze up into his face and then lower her lashes as she replied to him. He would humph and grip his tankard more tightly, clearly unhappy about being there at all as evidenced from the glower on his face.

Katy enjoyed watching them from her spot on the edge of the light, especially now that the dancing had begun. She was not one to dance, but she did enjoy watching others make such fools of themselves. Several of her Tyrell and Redwyne cousins were drunk past the point of standing, and she relished seeing them trip over themselves and wondered if they knew how entertaining they were to watch.

Alys danced, of course, letting herself by twirled about by the boys and young men they'd known since childhood. She was everyone's favorite, beautiful, fairy-like Alys with her black hair and eyes, her rosy lips. Her father had been a Redwyne, captain of one of the trading galleys, and he'd brought his dainty little daughter home from some years'-long excursion or another. Alys had come to the Ashford's when the captain died, a comrade of her father's from childhood with no other family prepared to foster the girl. Katy had been nearly twelve when the child was brought to their home, only six. Prickly from her birth, Katy had immediately softened toward her new companion, surprising both her parents. Despite the difference in their ages, wherever Katy went, there, too went Alys.

And now it was wherever Alys went, there, too, went Katy. Half-standing, Katy looked about the party. She could not see her cousin. Just a moment ago she'd been there in the center, twirling merrily with the others, but now she was nowhere to be seen.

Keeping her eyes on the ever-moving mass of people, Katy began a slow circuit as she searched for her. She was very nearly at the head table when she found her way blocked by a wiry man wearing a sword at his hip that was very much not a part of a costume.

"I beg your pardon, ser," she said, thinking that would be enough for him to stand aside and let her by.

"Given freely," he replied with a lift of his brows. Still, he did not move.

"If you would be so kind as to let me pass," she continued, a sizzle of irritation in her gut that threatened her ability to remain civil.

"Nothing to do with kindness, but I'm not inclined to change my position." She looked up at him sharply. He was not a young man, perhaps just a year or two older than Jaime Lannister himself. From the look of him, though, he'd not led such a luxurious life as the Kingslayer. He wasn't particularly tall, nor was he handsome. His face was a quarry of lines and crevices, the skin deeply bronzed and lined by the sun. The hard eyes that were fixed on her were a pale, washed-out blue, and they were studying her as closely as she was studying him.

"I need to pass," she said, swallowing. She didn't like not being able to see Alys. The two young women were there on their own with no escort and Alys was far too trusting for her own good.

"Not so as I can see. You've no need to go near the head table." He bit down on the inside corner of his lip and threw his eyes back out onto the throng of people dancing.

_A guard_, she thought quickly. He didn't look like a guard, and he wasn't wearing the livery of the Tyrell's.

"I'm looking for someone," she said, a little more solicitously.

"Who?" he asked, glancing back at her briefly.

"My cousin," she began, about to explain, but he cut her off again.

"They at the head table?"

"No," she replied, flustered.

"Then you don't need to pass." He shook his head and then, to her disgust, aimed a slug of spit at the ground near his feet. Katy balled her fists at her side and prepared to tell him just what she thought of his manners.

"Bronn," a low voice cut in, "is there something wrong?"

The guard's face softened immediately and he turned his body toward the speaker. Katy did not miss the look of chagrin that passed over his craggy face. He looked almost ashamed.

Helenna Manderly-Clegane was a few steps behind them both. Up close, she was prettier than Katy had thought, though the word pretty didn't seem quite right either. Handsome, perhaps. She was nearly as tall as the man she'd hailed as Bronn, her dark hair in a simply twist over her shoulder and falling to her waist. She wore little adornment, though she rouged her lips and kohled her eyes. They were a most perplexing color, shifting in the torchlight.

She quirked a dark brow at the man and he cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his browned neck with a roughened hand.

"Just some girl tryna gawk at the fancy folk, Lenna," he replied. "Sending her on her way."

"Some girl, Bronn?" the lady laughed. Katy didn't know what to make of the man addressing the Mistress of Coin so familiarly, or the lady's reaction. "This is, if I'm not mistaken, Lady Katryna Ashford. My cousin." The guard's face fell.

"Cousin," Katy replied in shock, mouth going dry. "My lady-"

"Yes," the lady continued. "My grandmother was Lady Olenna's sister, Malleah Redwyne. Your mother, I believe was a Tyrell, and her mother a Redwyne. See, Bronn, we are all family." The guard grunted but he did let the women pass, Lady Helenna tucking Katy's hand into her elbow.

"I should have introduced you," she said, then stopped abruptly. "I didn't even introduce myself."

"Lady Helenna Manderly-Clegane," Katy supplied, awkwardly curtseying while still holding her arm. The other woman laughed.

"It's far too wordy," she replied. "Better Lenna instead." She paused. "Would you like me to call you Lady Katryna?"

Katy shook her head. "My family calls me Katy." Coming out of her mouth it sounded childish in her ears. Perhaps she should have asked to at least be called Katryna. Katy was more apt for a girl of thirteen instead of an old maid of five and twenty.

"Then Katy it shall be. Now," Lenna continued, looking around them, "who was it you were looking for?"

"My cousin, Alys," she replied, her voice dropping. "Alys Flowers."

"Ah, yes," Lenna replied. "She's been quite the toast of the evening hasn't she? Perhaps we can find her by the punch."

To Katy's own astonishment, Lenna led her through the throngs of people in the direction of the tables. Few people marked her, but it wasn't all that surprising. However, the search was futile. Alys was nowhere to be found.

"She can't have gone far," Lenna pronounced as she settled onto Katy's table. The Ashfords had only been afforded three places. Only two were occupied. "My aunt was surprised that you both came to the festivities."

"Lady Olenna noticed me?" Katy asked in surprise. She didn't think herself quite interesting enough to be noted by the hostess.

Lenna cocked an eyebrow at her, much as she had the guard. "Lady Olenna notices everything."

"Like you." Lenna nodded her head briefly in acknowledgement. "Why are you talking with me? We've never met before and I am not some grand lady."

"You are heiress to House Ashford," Lenna replied succinctly, "and never thought to be." Katy felt her blood recede from her cheeks. Lenna looked down. "I remember writing the letter about your brothers. I was there when the capital fell. And then I heard that the estate would be passed to you, that your father was ill. I meant to offer friendship, should you need it. I know something of what it is the be in your position."

"You are heiress to White Harbor," Katy bit out, not at all appreciating the look of pity on her companion's face. "My holdings are an old pile of rocks and a few dozen peasants."

"Your holdings are the same as mine," Lenna replied curtly. "The well-being of your people and their defense." Katy sat back on her bench and put her hands in her lap. Lenna took in a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. "I had not meant to speak with you like this, not here. Perhaps not ever. But I saw you tangling with Bronn and I thought to kill two birds together."

"Bronn?"

"That man back there," Lenna continued with an exasperated exhalation that was half laughter. "Ser Bronn of the Blackwater. He's not your average knight, and he doesn't hold much with 'fancy folk' and their ways."

"I was handling myself well enough," Katy replied stiffly, thinking back to the insolent man with the slicked back hair.

Lenna laughed a little more genuinely. "Aye, you were. Whatever were you about to say to him when I cut in?"

"That he was a beslubbering blackguard who should know better than to pollute the ground with his filth."

Again, Lenna laughed, only this time she threw her head back and chortled like a girl and not one of the most powerful people in the Realms.

"I'd have paid fifty golden dragons to see it, and his reaction," she said, wiping her eyes. "We are a motley assortment, aren't we?" She turned over her shoulder and glanced at the head table. "Brienne of Tarth, the first woman commander of the Kingsguard. Jaime Lannister, erstwhile a Kingslayer and now a cripple, Willas- where did Willas go?- yet another broken thing, and of course, Lady Olenna, the Queen of Thorns who enjoys a party more than most things and would hate for you to know it." She paused, glancing at Sandor Clegane. He was staring straight back at them. "Not to mention myself and my husband."

"Did he really steal you?" Katy asked, unable to help herself.

"He did," Lenna replied with a fond smile that was almost conspiratorial. "But don't believe everything you hear in the ballads." She sat up a bit straighter. "Isn't this your cousin coming?"

Katy turned and there was Alys, her mask in her hand and her cheeks blooming with roses.

"Katy," she breathed, "isn't this just the most marvellous thing?" She threw her arms out in excitement as if she meant to embrace the whole world.

"I am glad you are enjoying yourself," Katy replied sincerely. "Alys, this is Lady Helenna Manderly-Clegane. She's our cousin."

Alys dipped a curtsy, her eyes wide as moons. "My lady."

"Join us," Lenna said. "Please. And put off with the 'my ladying.' The purpose of a masquerade is to be rid of such foolishness."

"None of us are wearing masks," Katy replied, taking a sip of her wine. Lenna smiled widely.

"No," she replied. "Indeed we are not."

The rest of the evening passed quite pleasantly, even by Katy's standards. Lenna was not at all what she expected, in turns serious and then suddenly merry. She asked all manner of questions about Katy's home, her father, even her dead brothers. Through it all, she sprinkled the most intriguing morsels of her own experience as if they were nothing. The time she went to Dorne to fetch back Queen Myrcella, her friendship with Sansa Stark, the Wardeness of the North. She even slipped in details about the 'motley assortment' at the high table, about Brienne of Tarth and Jaime Lannister and her own husband. Throughout her time at their table, he kept his eye steadily upon the three of them with an air of dark forbearance.

"He hates these sorts of things," Lenna said, rising to go. "I should put him out of his misery. Unfortunately for him, it is only beginning. How long are you staying?"

"We are to go back tomorrow," Katy replied. Though the festival would go on for a week, she did not want to say that they could not afford more than one night's lodgings, and it had been a trick to get that much from her father.

"Where are you staying?"

"At the inn," Katy replied, purposefully not naming which one.

"No," Lenna replied with a motherly tsk. "That won't do. Not at all. Don't move from here."

The girls looked at each other and watched as Lenna went deftly to her aunt and bent to whisper something in her ear. The old woman's eyes settled on Katy and Alys and her thin lips turned up into a smile. She nodded in their direction like a decision had been made.

Lenna came back to them and stretched out her hands.

"You will stay here," she said. "Rooms will be prepared for you and your things sent for. I will go face the wrath of my husband, but you should enjoy yourselves as long as you please. When you are ready, just ask one of the servants which way to go. Breakfast in the morning, if you please. I'll meet you on the terraces."

Katy wanted to say that Lenna was breezy, but everything about the exchange had been businesslike and efficient, though her warmth had been genuine. As she disappeared back into the crowd, her hulking husband rising to his feet with a lopsided scowl on his face, Alys slipped her hand into Katy's.

"What is happening?" she breathed.

Katy squeezed her hand but the same question was echoing in her own mind.

"I don't know," she replied, but when Alys pulled her back into the throng of people, she went reluctantly, even bringing herself to clap along with the music. When one of the young lords of the Arbor, Horas or Hobbard, presented himself as a dance partner, Katy found herself letting him slip an arm around her waist under the harvest moon.

A/N: Worth continuing?


	2. Chapter 2

Six months. Could it have been six months since the walls of King's Landing had fallen and taken all he knew with them? In the interim, Jaime Lannister had done his best, though he was sure that it was not good enough. He was not so self-important that he did not recognize how paltry his part in the great game was. That, and he still had not quite reconciled himself to the idea that both of his siblings were, well, dead. They came to him nightly. Tyrion when he closed his eyes, just a moment away with his jester's smile and a goblet of wine in his hand, his voice reedy and expectant and wry all at once. Jaime treasured those moments just before he fell asleep when Tyrion was there again. After the fall, he had clung to Helenna Manderley, and had come to find in her a sister. No one knew Tyrion, or Cersei, quite like she did. The loss had been profound in the strangest way. He had known a moment alone since his conception in his mother's womb, Cersei there beside him from the quickening. He'd felt the very minute she'd died, or at least he fancied that he did. There he was, plugging away at a day, and then it felt as though everything had been pulled out from beneath his feet, like he was plummeting through blue air to something yet unknown. He'd learned later that this was the moment Cersie fell, followed not ten minutes later by dear Tyrion. Tyrion. He struggled to think of him, and he reckoned he always would. Tyrion. Dear, brave, stupid, innocent, optimistic, accepting Tyrion. Lenna had told him the whole story. How at the last, Tyrion Lannister, the Imp, had turned a crossbow on the Mother of Dragons and kept her from harm, bidding her to turn heel and run. How Lenna had followed his order knowing that she would not see her friend again. Her friend. Jaime wondered if she knew how his brother had loved her. How they had all loved her. He was thinking as much as he sat at the long table at Highgarden watching the people as they danced in the half-light of the lanterns, their features made nothing but shadow and light by the soft glow of the flames. It was like watching spirits or fairies, a child's story, unfold before them on the untrodden grass that had grown without care, without knowledge, of the great hardship that had befallen them all in the last war. War. He nearly scoffed at the idea. He had not fought. Not really. He had simply...shown up. Brienne of Tarth was seated beside him. Her steady intake and exhalation of breath was enough to remind him that he needed to do the same. If he forgot, there would be no heir to Casterly Rock, no Lannister to move the house forward. What a pity he had not died in the fall like Tyrion and Cersei. To merely think her name brought him pain, though he could not tell you why. Years of torment, years of deceit. Years of being nothing more than her plaything and of hoping for nothing better… She was dead. He was not. This was something he had to remind himself each day when he woke and the realization that he was the last lion came crashing down like a wave. _You are not dead_, his body said. Yet you are alone, replied his heart. This was not entirely true, this much he knew. Lenna Manderley cared for him as she would a brother. Her own were dead, and she, sole heiress to White Harbor, had always looked upon him with a kindliness he did not deserve. Tyrion had loved her. Jaime suspected that Tyrion had loved her enough to marry her, to make stupidly smart heirs to the Lannister fortunes. Cersei had loved her too, had confided in her things that she didn't even tell Jaime, even to the end. His own _father_ had seen something in Lenna that no one else had. A light that they coveted, wanted to use. Jaime had seen her for what she was. Lonely. Like him. There was a time when he had thought he might renounce his Kingsguard vows and take a woman like that to wife. To bring Helenna Manderly back through the gates of the Lion's Mouth as mistress and lay all of the Westerlands and the sparkling expanse of the Sunset Sea at her feet. Lenna would not have been impressed. She'd seen it all before. That drew him more than anything. But nothing drew him more than the woman that sat to his right. Woman. Warrior. Unnatural. Jaime scarcely knew what to call her. Brienne of Tarth defied explanation or description. No word could sum her up, and Jaime didn't even know what to call her. Sometimes he called her "Lady Brienne," still others he said "Ser." Never had he simply called her by her name. And here they were, all the survivors, all the worse for wear. Lenna and her brute of a husband looked the best of them, which was a feat in and of itself. That Lenna was lovely and right was no surprise. She'd weathered many storms in her day without a hair out of place or a mistimed smile. He, however, hadn't seen better days. The most charitable thing that could be said of Sandor Clegane was that he had seen it through. From the beginning of the war to the end, he'd come through with no new scars to take the place of the old ones, and a highborn wife despite it all. Jaime sighed. The lanterns were kind. They spilled across the revelers like warm marmalade, their features smiling and lax in the orange glow. Women in ragtag gowns and men in suits that had seen better days. Survivors. He watched them as he guarded his spot at the head table. To relinquish it meant insufferable dancing. A fair young woman with long dark hair was swirling among the dancers, her hair fanning out about her like a cloak. Her face was dreamy, all smooth skin that didn't even whisper at hardship. Her eyes were closed, her arms floating about her as if suspended underwater. She was young, perhaps twenty. Too young, he thought, to know just what it was that they'd all just come through. A/N: I make no promises about regular updates. I will fully admit that the last season left a terrible taste in my mouth and I have had no motivation to write in this universe. Coupled with the fact that I just started a very intense PhD program, and I do not know how often I will update this. I only know that Jaime spoke to me, and I listened. I miss him. 


	3. Chapter 3

Katy II

She awoke the next morning in the depths of the softest feather bed she'd ever slept in and with a headache that felt like a giant cleaving firewood in her head. Her mouth was bitter and dry, her throat stickily parched, and she groaned to remember how one reticent glass of wine had turned into…

….Well, she'd quite lost count.

Heaving herself up on her side, she considered the room in which she found herself. The bed was very fine, the posts carved of wood the color of butter and hung in green and gold. Tyrell colors. There was a beautiful carpet on the floor, beautifully woven in a motif of roses and birds and twining vines. The windows were wide with intricately carved lattices in pale stone. A vase of roses, riotous pinks and reds and even orange, sat on the little writing desk that looked out over what she assumed was the garden. She wasn't about to drag herself over there to look. Sunlight was streaming in through the window, spilling warmly across the stone floor, and she feared that if she tried to stand the contents of her stomach might join it.

It was bright out, well past breakfast, perhaps even already noon. It hurt her head to look at, so she flung herself backward once more, at once too weak to move and too awake to go back to sleep. Her stomach gnawed so viciously that she did not know if she was starving or going to vomit. Probably both.

How long she just lie there she didn't know. It could have been hours, or merely seconds, but the door careening open sent her groaning face down into the pillows.

"Katy, get up."

"Go away."

"Katy, it's almost noon."

She threw the quilt over her head. It blotted out the vengeful sun. She should have thought of that before. "Said go away, Alys."

Her cousin was not going to be so easily deterred, that she knew, so she steeled herself. At home, Alys might have ripped the covers from her head and made her get up, but not this morning. Granted, Katy wasn't usually ill from too much drink at home. This was the first time ever, in her recollection.

Alys did not do anything but sit at the foot of the bed and wait. She said nothing, and that in itself was enough to eventually make Katy pull down her blankets and look at her cousin.

Alys' head drooped, her dark hair falling about her shoulders in a curtain. She was wearing a strange dress, well, one that Katy had never seen. She must have borrowed it. It was far finer than anything they had at Ashford Castle. Something about the set of Alys' shoulders set Katy's stomach to bubbling with something that wasn't the regret of last night's poor choices.

"Alys," Katy said, pushing herself up on her elbows. "Is everything alright? Whatever is the matter?"

"Oh Katy," Alys said, staring at the floor. Her voice was low and almost broken. "I don't even know what to think."

That was enough to shock her into sobriety. Katy sat up decisively, and even though she still felt like an army of miners was picking away at her skull, the haziness of her thinking cleared like mist off a meadow.

"What do you mean?" Katy asked. "Think about what?"

"You didn't come down to breakfast," Alys said through whitened lips. "Everyone else was there, but you weren't."

"Were you treated unkindly?" Katy asked, feeling herself prickle down to the roots of her hair. It had happened before, people making snide remarks about lovely Alys, about her birth, or lack thereof.

"No," she rejoined breathlessly. Katy relaxed but only slightly. "No, that wasn't it at all."

"Then what?" Katy asked, bracing the heel of her hand against her forehead. As if that would give her any relief.

"Horas Redwyne asked me to marry him," Alys said quietly.

"What?" Katy exclaimed. She immediately pictured the round-shouldered, blunt-faced young man. She could not imagine Alys dancing with him, much less wed to him. The pain in her head compounded as if the Smith himself was hammering away on his anvil. "What did you say?"

Alys didn't answer right away. "Horas Redwyne asked me to marry him. And so did Arys Oakheart."

"Two proposals?" Katy said, eyes wide despite the pain from the glare. "What did you do, Alys? What did you say?"

"Nothing," she said, jumping to her feet, pulling at her hands in agitation. She went to the window, looking out of it like a prisoner from a tower. "I thanked them."

"And?" Katy prompted, trying to stretch the last measure of her patience. Alys was obviously distressed, and she didn't want to make it any worse than she was sure it already was.

"That's all," Alys said, looking back at Katy with an expression so forlorn that it drew a sigh from Katy. "What will uncle say?"

Katy pinched the bridge of her nose and reached for the pitcher of water on her bed table. "I haven't the faintest idea."

"He will be cross," Alys said quickly, crossing quickly to the window once more, slender arms . "I know he shall be cross."

"Why should he be?" Katy muttered into her cup. She was quite sure that Papa would be thrilled with the prospect, though she wondered how they could possibly pay a dowry on her. Alys' father had left nothing for her care and keeping, her own fortunes even lower than Katy's own. "Two proposals from the heirs of houses of no insignificance. The _Arbor_, Alys. However did you manage it?"

"I managed nothing!" Alys exclaimed, her cheeks going red. Her eyes were bright and Katy hoped she wasn't about to start crying. She couldn't bear it when Alys cried. "I did not do anything wrong."

Katy reached out a hand, gratified when Alys slowly came to her and took it. "Of course you did nothing wrong," she tried more gently. That Alys could even think that this was some fault of hers chastened her. "I only meant that it is quite extraordinary. Don't you think?"

"Is it so hard to believe that someone might like me?" Alys murmured, lovely eyes downcast.

"You know that's not what I meant," Katy said. "Not at all. You are good and beautiful and too sweet by half. Of course these little lords want to marry you, and after only a dance or two at a harvest feast." She took a deep breath. "Do you want to marry one of them?"

"I don't know," Alys replied. She sat again on the edge of the bed, her palms upturned in her lap. Katy thought of the wandering witches who sometimes read palms at the fair, and wondered what they might see in the lines of Alys' hands.

"Then that's alright," Katy said. "You don't have to know today. Or tomorrow. Or even next week."

"I don't?" Alys asked, looking at Katy. "They'll be cross-"

"If they actually want to marry you then they'll wait for you to be ready to give them a decision. They'll woo you, most likely."

"I don't want-" Alys began, wringing her hands. She didn't like being the center of things, even though she usually was. Katy knew well enough that Alys was shy, modest. She must be absolutely trembling at the thought of having to entertain not one but two suitors.

"Alys," Katy said flatly. Her cousin looked back at her with wide eyes. Despite her measure of beauty and sweetness, she was still the poor little base-born daughter of a distant relative, and she had always carried that burden. Only, instead of making her resentful, it had made her too pleasing by far, too eager to assuage others. Katy wondered if Alys was even aware of why this news was so upsetting. She wondered if she ever even paused to think of herself. "Alys, all will be well. This is not cause for distress."

"What if I decide I don't want to marry either of them?" she asked in a whisper.

The Arbor was beautiful and rich, as was Old Oak. Neither were beautiful or rich enough to warrant a forced marriage in which Alys would be unhappy. So, Katy shrugged. "So what? No one can make you marry one of them. Besides, a marriage made by force isn't legitimate. You don't have to marry anyone you do not wish to."

Once Alys had been pacified and pushed out the door to rest in her own room, Katy managed to rouse herself and dress. She'd lost half the day, half a day in Highgarden of all places, and she was quite angry at herself for her poor judgment the night before. If the platter on her bedside table was any indication, she was missing out on far better food than they saw in Ashford Castle, and she was sorry for it.

"Katy?"

There was a soft rap on her open door and Katy looked up, half a roll stuffed into her mouth. The nausea had receded into ravenous hunger so strong she was licking the tips of her fingers to collect the crumbs produced by her tearing into the bread like an ill-bred urchin.

Lenna was at the door, an expression of worry on her face.

"You did not come to breakfast and here it is nearly noon. Are you well?"

If Katy was not quite mistaken, there was a glimmer in her new friend's eye that she did not like at all.

"Yes," Katy replied, swatting at the crumbs that littered the front of her dress. "Quite."

Lenna folded her hands demurely, glancing at Katy from beneath her eyelashes. "You enjoyed yourself last night, I hope?"

"A little too much."

Lenna laughed and it drew an unwilling smile from Katy.

"Well, I hope you are feeling better," Lenna said. "Will you walk with me?"

Katy nodded, following Lenna out the door and down the passageway. "How in the seven hells did I get to this room last night?"

"Do you not remember?" Lenna teased. Katy fought the urge to growl. It was evident that she had made quite a fool of herself. "Bronn saw you back."

"That blackguard?" Katy spat, stopping dead in the hall.

Lenna laughed softly. "You do him a disservice, Katy. Bronn is my old friend. Despite what he seems, he's a good man."

"He's a pain in the-" Katy bit her tongue and remembered who she was talking to. Papa hated to hear her speak that way, but she couldn't help it. Mother had died when she was thirteen, and it had been Katy that stepped in to help with her younger brothers. Even Alys' sweet influence could not soften her already spiky nature, nor had long hours spent watching her brothers train with the men of Papa's garrison been of much help.

They had emerged from the keep into the uppermost terrace of the gardens. Katy was astonished by the sight before them. She had not had the opportunity to see the grounds the day before, and it was an entirely different perspective from so far up. The lawns rolled ever onward on a gentle slope, trees still decked with brightly colored lanterns lining shaded lanes, a reflecting pool stretching like a mirror before them, surrounded by a sea of roses in all colors.

"I'm quite used to plain speech," Lenna said with a cocked eyebrow. "You'll not offend me, I assure you." Still, Katy swallowed and bit back her retort. "I don't think you're wrong. Bronn can be quite a pain in the arse when he decides to be. Which is most of the time."

Katy's cheeks flared red to hear such rough words on her companion's tongue.

"I appreciate that he saw me safely back," she said, adjusting her skirts.

"You'll get to tell him yourself," Lenna said brightly, waving at a figure ahead of them. Katy bristled to recognize the wiry figure.

"Found her, then?" the man asked without greeting to either Lenna or Katy. There was an ease to his swagger, a familiarity that she did not like even though she attributed it to his purported friendship with Lenna.

"Yes, indeed," Lenna replied. "Right where you said she'd be."

"Too sauced last night to have gotten up to much mischief," he replied with a loud sniff and a scuff of his boot. The hard, pale eyes were on her and Katy felt her anger rise, though she owned that part of it was for herself.

"Thank you for your consideration in seeing me safe last night," Katy said between gritted teeth. She swore they squeaked.

"Have to admit it was a tussle," he said with a tilt of his head. He regarded her down a long crooked nose. "You're feisty in your cups." Then he smirked and Katy's stomach felt like it had filled with ice. "I reckon you're feisty out of 'em, too."

"Bronn," Lenna said with true warning in her voice. "Behave."

"My apologies," he said, deferentially nodding in Lenna's direction, his fingers drumming across the pommel of his sword. He turned again to Katy. "My congratulations to your cousin."

Lenna looked between them wide-eyed. "Congratulations?"

"She's to be wife of Horas Redwyne, from what I hear."

"Who told you that?" Katy asked, color fleeing her face.

"It's the talk of the place," Bronn said with the sweep of one long arm. "Heard it from the lucky man himself."

"Katy?" Lenna asked, her brow knitted together. "Is this true?"

"He has asked her," Katy replied quickly. "But she has not accepted."

"That's not what Horas said. To hear him tell it, the lady thanked him rapturously for the honor of his addresses."

"She did," Katy said a little more forcefully. "She did thank him, of course, but she did not accept."

"Why not?" Bronn asked, his face crumpling like old leather. "What more could a pretty bastard expect." Hands knotted into fists, Katy took a step forward before she could stop herself. Bronn threw his hands up. "I meant no offense. But she is, isn't she?"

"You'll have to excuse us, Bronn," Lenna said curtly.

"Right," Bronn replied. He nodded to Lenna and swept Katy a ridiculous bow before sauntering off to gods knew where.

Katy's breath was coming fast, her heart battering against her ribs like a siege-engine., Her vision was blotchy, a swirl of painful brightness. She was grateful when Lenna took her by the elbow and guided her to a low wall, tucking Katy's arm into her own elbow as they sat down.

"Alys has not accepted Horas Redwyne." Katy shook her head and Lenna sighed. "Well, this is certainly awkward then."

"It's worse," Katy said. "She received another offer."

"Two in one day?" Lenna's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Busy girl."

Katy reddened again. "Arys Oakheart." Lenna pulled a face, then smiled.

"I know which I'd pick, given my druthers." Horas Redwyne was pig-nosed and beefy with a shock of sickly yellow hair. Katy had found him a perfectly polite dance partner the night before, but there had not been much opportunity to take his measure. Arys Oakheart, on the other hand, was about as handsome as any man had a right to be, though he was cocksure of himself from what little Katy had seen of him.

"She doesn't know what to do," Katy said lamely. "Neither do I, now."

"What do you mean?"

"If Horas Redwyne is going around saying that she's accepted him, then what's to be the consequence if she doesn't?" Katy clenched her hands in skirts. "One of them will have to be disappointed, but I would not have Alys-"

"She's a sweet and innocent girl, your cousin," Lenna said. "And I wager she's prone to trying to please everyone. I know something of that misfortune." Katy looked at her. "It's a delicate balance she has to strike. I can tell it distresses you to hear her spoken of in such crude terms, but Bronn has a point. She is a bastard. She is no one's heir, she has no lands or holdings of her own to bring into a marriage-"

"As if that's the only consideration-"

"I don't disagree with you!" Lenna exclaimed. "Gods know I understand what it is to wish to marry for love, and I would argue for that joy for anyone, your cousin included. Only, is it at all possible that she could like one of them?"

"How could she like them?" Katy spat. "She doesn't know them at all."

Lenna blinked quickly, then squeezed Katy's hand decisively. "If she got to know them, what do you think would happen?"

"Then she could choose," Katy said, "and have as much chance of happiness as any other woman, I imagine."

"Your father," Lenna said, "would he allow for a courtship do you think?"

Katy shrugged. Papa was near-comatose most of the time. He had been since the boys were killed. "Perhaps. I don't know."

"Here's what we'll do," Lenna said, pulling Katy to her feet. "We'll go to my aunt. She'll stop Horas Redwyne from spreading this news any further, and we'll write to your father together to see what he will say."

"We could just go home," Katy said.

"No," Lenna said quickly. "Stay here for now. I think I've devised a plan."

Katy didn't know how her companion could smile at such a time, but she did, and when Lenna threaded her arm through Katy's elbow, she followed without question.

The pain in her head echoed with the dull, dreadful throb of her heart.


End file.
